


Old and New

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Albanian, Foster Care, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://johncroftianlullaby.tumblr.com/post/36791962147/winter-drawing-writing-challenge">Winter Writing/Drawing Challenge</a> Day 15 - Winter Hats and Mittens</p><p>For aliisa-jones, who wanted Johncroft where “Mycroft and John finally adopt a child together (I’m a sap i can’t help it XD)”.<br/> <br/>Rated G. Apologies for any mistakes with the Albanian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old and New

Zamir forced his lip to quirk into a bit of an appreciative expression before it fell again and he became blank. It's not that he wasn't grateful. 

Somewhere in a box, in one of the boxes of his things, he had a much nicer, slightly-worn, lovingly knitted set of hats and mittens. It's not that he didn't appreciate Mycroft's purchase. And, honestly, Mycroft wasn't trying to impress him with the hat and gloves.

After the death of his parents, while Sherlock, Mycroft's younger brother, had been investigating, they'd had Mycroft help question Zamir, since he spoke Albanian. And Zamir had drawn the man easily into conversation superfluous to the investigation. He'd made him laugh.

Zamir can remember the look on Mycroft's face when he asked him who his favorite superhero was, after struggling a bit to explain the concept to Mycroft, who definitely knew passable Albanian but still struggled to understand uncommon topics like superheroes.

Something about the man's demeanor had said he was powerful, but something about the man's eyes said he was kind, and Zamir knew that eyes were often more correct in such matters.

Zamir and his parents had just moved to England. In fact, they'd not yet unpacked everything when events had unfolded. They'd barely unpacked any of it. 

Zamir, in broken English, asked a man who wasn't Mycroft where he was going to end up staying. The man told Zamir he'd live with a foster family until they could find his relatives to send him back to.

"Good luck with that," he'd said. He couldn't think of anyone who'd be willing, and he wasn't keen to go back to Albania, not that he was any keener to stay in England. He missed Gjyshe more than he could say, but she was gone, gone like his parents. She'd been the only thing keeping his parents in Albania. He was glad they were together, but he wanted no more strangers.

He'd asked Mycroft how big his house was, and he'd said it was fairly large and why did Zamir ask, please. And Zamir said that Mycroft could be his foster parent. He'd never seen the man so utterly shocked. Chewing awkwardly at the tip of the pen he'd been using to help them communicate, Mycroft told him it would be slightly inappropriate because he was asking him all those hard questions.

And Zamir had asked him if that was the only reason he wouldn't.

And Mycroft had paused and said...yes.

So Zamir had, with some coaxing and some charming and more times of making the man laugh unexpectedly, won his chance to be a foster son at Mycroft's big house. 

John spoke up, seeing the struggle to smile. "It's okay," he said. "Seriously, Zamir. Our feelings aren't hurt."

Zamir stared down at the store-bought gloves and tried not to cry. His flashbacks were starting to come under control. John remembered what it was like to have flashbacks of horrible things.

John was the best friend of Mycroft's brother Sherlock, and he was in love with Mycroft, and Mycroft was in love with him. Zamir had seen it as plain as day when they'd had chats about Sherlock, when Mycroft suddenly rushed to straighten up if John was on the way over.

"I like him," Zamir had told Mycroft.

"I'm glad," Mycroft had said with a little smile.

"You don't have to worry about...um. Me. I mean...."

Mycroft had frowned and paused, finally asking. "Zamir...what?"

"My parents were very in love," Zamir explained with a bit of that choky feeling he still got remembering them. "You look at him like that."

A pink flush and a sudden feeling of windedness came over Mycroft who sort of crumpled and looked away. Zamir put his hand on Mycroft's sleeve.

"I'm not upset, remember? You don't have to worry about me. You only...you should only worry about time."

"What?" Mycroft had turned to Zamir, tilting his head in curiosity. 

"The time is right," Zamir said emphatically.

"You think so?"

That was one thing Zamir loved about his foster father, and, fingers crossed, possible future adoptive father: He listened. Just because Zamir was young didn't mean he couldn't observe and share what he saw in things. Witnessing his parents' death had pushed Zamir into growing up, and so had certain events before that point and now after, in his new life with Mycroft. 

"If you change your mind, you _will_ let me know," Mycroft said with a hint of a threat.

"Right, no unhappy Zamirs here," Zamir said with total amusement, moving his hand from Mycroft's sleeve to his larger hand. "Will you go on a date?"

"Possibly. If he says yes."

"Where?"

And Mycroft had rolled his eyes and turned more fully toward him and taken his hand back so he could gesture and he'd explained what kind of date was likely to make John Watson most comfortable.

Zamir let a tear fall, looking up at John, then at Mycroft. "Thank you," he said quietly, standing to go find his coat and place the gloves in the pockets. He'd need them soon enough.

" _Ckemi zemer?"_ Mycroft asked in his gentle tone.

Zamir sniffed and shrugged. He swallowed. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to explain about the mittens. They were his secret. It was nice to have some secrets, after he'd been questioned about the crime and then about his feelings, after he kept having to explain how he was. That quiet, "Ckemi zemer?" was nice, but Mycroft was a bit nosy. He really wanted to help, but he was just a little too interested at times.

Zamir shrugged and didn't look at Mycroft in case he looked concerned. He always looked concerned. Zamir waited until he was pretty sure he'd look normal again.

"You're a good boy, Zamir," was all John said.

Zamir sniffed again and nodded. "Thank you."

"Let's get some use out of those," Mycroft said suddenly. John and Zamir turned to him in surprise. He usually planned things out, and this sounded...spontaneous.

Even his announcement that he'd decided to adopt Zamir had been a planned party. A small one, but very organized and fairly impressive. Zamir had felt fairly impressive too. And John had been so happy for them he'd cried, and Zamir had laughed at him for it, which he'd loved. 

Sherlock had cried too. 

"Where are we going?" Zamir asked, reaching for his coat.

"I know a man who drives a horse-drawn carriage. Would you like to go?"

Zamir hesitated. 

"We really don't have to," Mycroft said quickly. 

"Alright, Zamir, what is it?" John asked firmly.

Zamir hesitated again and then, finally, he sighed and told them about Gjyshe's mittens and hat. 

And his fathers (one legally, the other in spirit) got down on their knees with scissors and determination and helped reopen bits of his past, not minding when he cried or when he looked away. 

And, in the end, he wore the mittens and hat to ride the horse-drawn carriage. It was a bit like Gjyshe was holding his hand. 

" _Ju dua_ ," he told his fathers.

" _Të dua_ ," they said back, one on either side of him against the winter air.


End file.
